


Underground, the Story Continued

by thecommodore_squid (orphan_account)



Series: Of Pancakes & Cave(rns) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Bucky "Communication is Important" Barnes, Cuddles, Depression, Extras From OCFL, Guilt, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve "Good Talk" Rogers, Touch-Starved Character, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8201003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thecommodore_squid
Summary: Extras from One Cloud Feels Lonely.





	1. What Files? Oh, THOSE Files.

**Author's Note:**

> I took some prompts on tumblr and figured I'd post them here too in case you guys are invested in the story but don't follow me there. This fic is gonna act as a place where I can fill prompts from this universe. If you want me to write something, you can either drop me an ask on tumblr or say something in the comments of this fic, and I'll get to it here unless I have Even Bigger Plans for it.
> 
> "Are we continuing with the Watership Down quotes title theme?" you ask.  
> "Why, yes," I respond.  
> "What about the chapter titles?"  
> "Well, you see, the thing is—" I begin, but you cannot hear me. I have disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

The kids had gone to some weird Christmas party that had a certified No Old People Allowed vibe, so Bucky, Steve, Sam, T’Challa, and Natasha had the entire building to themselves.

 

T’Challa was on some conference call a few rooms over, and the four of them were lounged across the couches, watching _Love Actually_. Bucky had already cried at least three times that Steve had noticed.

 

Steve felt boneless and tired in a weirdly good way, stretched out on the couch with his head in Natasha’s lap and his feet shoved under Bucky’s thigh. Sam leaned back, sitting on the floor with Bucky’s legs dangling over his shoulders.

 

Maybe this was what normal people felt like getting older. Something eternally warm and nostalgic in their guts.

 

Natasha tugged sharply at a strand of Steve’s hair, and Steve looked up at her. “What,” he complained sleepily.

 

“Hi,” she said. “I like the purple hair.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“This is weird,” Sam announced abruptly. “I’m the only one aging normally. I feel so old next to you guys.”

 

“Suck it,” Bucky mumbled. “Be quiet. Pay attention to the movie.”

 

“Not like you haven’t seen it eighty times.”

 

Bucky sniffed. “Shut _up_. This is my favorite part.”

 

As if Bucky hadn’t said the exact same thing five minutes ago.

 

Steve gave him a fond smile and wiggled his toes. Bucky loosely circled his fingers around Steve’s ankle without looking away from the screen.

 

T’Challa wandered back into the room as the movie was winding down, a pinched look to his face. He looked at Bucky, and his gaze flicked to Steve briefly, and Steve felt a spike of anxiety in his chest.

 

He sat down next to Sam and said something to him that Steve didn’t hear. Sam jolted a little bit. “How the hell does anyone still care?” he demanded. “It’s been—”

 

“What’s up?” Natasha asked.

 

Sam and T’Challa exchanged glances.

 

Finally, T’Challa said, “The UN is trying to take ownership of some files that do not belong to them.”

 

“Which files?” Steve asked, sitting up, withdrawing from the warmth of his two closest friends in the world.

 

“Some of yours,” T’Challa said softly, nodding at Bucky. Bucky frowned. T’Challa’s eyes flicked to Steve again, his brows furrowed. “Have you told—”

 

Steve got to his feet. “Why do they want files on Bucky?”

 

T’Challa was frowning. Hesitantly, he whispered, “Not for the purpose of persecuting _Bucky_.”

 

“What do they know about…?” Steve asked, feeling a creeping sense of resignation.

 

“That much is unclear.”

 

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked, rubbing at his scruff with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

 

“They’re _those_ files?” Steve asked, forcing himself to not look at Bucky.

 

“How do you know about the files?” Bucky asked as T’Challa said, “Yes.”

 

“Late,” Steve said. “That’s very late of them. Why haven’t they done it sooner?”

 

“My guess is that they are after the same thing that Shield is after,” T’Challa said.

 

“Great.”

 

“I’m confused,” Bucky said, and Steve finally let himself look at him.

 

Natasha gave Steve a harsh look. “It’s been a while, Steve. You should tell him. He has a damn right to know.”

 

Bucky gave Steve a half-annoyed, half-anxious look. “Tell me _what_?”

 

Steve’s blood was frozen in his veins. His fingers spasmed, and he hated himself. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he said, looking at Bucky, and his voice felt faint and resigned and awful.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, looking concerned now. He got to his feet. “Of course.”

 

Steve rolled his shoulders. “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

Natasha grabbed Steve’s hand before they went. They locked eyes, and she nodded, and Steve took a shuddering breath. He nodded back. She released him, and Steve tucked his hands in his pockets to brace himself for the outside chill.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was snowing lazily, and Bucky’s nose was red, and he still hated the cold.

 

He’d bundled up into a big coat, a warm hat, fucking fuzzy gloves, and insulated boots because he was weak like that. Next to him, Steve stood in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, not looking bothered in the slightest. Not even a single goosebump dotted his arms. Maybe he’d dissociated, but Steve had also mentioned something about _liking_ the cold for some awful reason.

 

Bucky shuffled in the snow, barely picking up his feet as they walked kind of aimlessly through the dark woods. Anxiety was crawling in his gut. He hated not knowing things.

 

Steve took a deep breath and closed his mouth. He stopped walking. Shook his head. Kept going. He flicked hard at his wrist, and Bucky grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together to get him to stop.

 

Bucky waited, even though it felt like his nerves were going to sizzle and fry and burst out of his skin. He’d wait as long as Steve needed because he got the feeling that this entire thing, while directly about him, also wasn’t really about him at all.

 

“Right,” Steve said quietly, and his voice was so defeated that Bucky almost tripped over his next step. “You know how I—uh—didn’t actually stop fighting ‘til, like, three years after I gave up Captain America?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. “It’s funny, but that’s how long I was in cryo too. Almost like—like an intermission before our new lives began.”

 

Steve choked on his next breath, and it wasn’t in a funny way or a surprised way, but like he was holding back fucking _tears_ or something, and now Bucky was really worried. Bucky stopped them, and Steve reflexively stopped too. Their hands were still clasped together, but Steve’s chin was tucked down to his chest, and he felt eons away.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, and he moved to grab Steve’s other hand, shifting them so that they were facing each other. “Talk to me.”

 

Steve didn’t lift his head. Bucky felt Steve’s fingers twitching in his grip, and his heart beat loud against his chest. “You are going to hate me,” Steve whispered. He wrenched his hands away and took a single step back. “God, I’ve been so selfish. You should’ve known about this from the damn beginning. Fuck.”

 

“Hey,” Bucky said. “Calm down. Honesty Hour, okay?”

 

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Okay.”

 

“I’m here.”

 

Steve nodded, and he took another step back and squared his shoulders, and Bucky wondered how he’d ever missed for a second that Steve was a runner and a fighter all trapped in one dichotomous body. “I burned down Hydra bases.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, because he knew that. That was the red dead snake on Steve’s arm.

 

“I still don’t know what I was looking for.” Steve’s expression was dark and kind of scary, and Bucky resisted the urge to shudder. “Actually. That’s a lie. It was familiar, and it was—I dunno—cathartic—when I couldn’t feel anything else. I was so damn _angry_ , Buck, I don’t think you can even imagine how angry I was.”

 

If Steve was that disgusted with himself for anger, which had been the only thing that had fueled him before and during the war, then Bucky really couldn’t fathom it. But then he cast his mind back to Siberia, and he remembered the terrifying frenzy to that fight, and he thought that maybe he could start to build a picture.

 

Steve flicked at his wrist again, seemingly with more intent this time (although Bucky was pretty damn sure he still never knew when he was doing it), and Bucky made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, too quiet for Steve to hear.

 

“It was like every damn Hydra agent deserved to die, and I was the only one who could do it.”

 

“How many dead?” Bucky asked roughly.

 

Steve closed his eyes briefly and gave a jerky shrug. “I don’t know,” he said, voice breaking.

 

_Shit_.

 

“You remember the files,” Steve said, “that got you your mind back?”

 

“How could I fucking forget them?” Bucky asked.

 

“They were in a vault in El Salvador,” Steve said distantly, his voice dropping into that numb tone that Bucky hated so much.

 

“Oh,” he said, like the air had been punched out of him.

 

Steve dug his nails into his arms, shoulders bunched up. “I wasn’t looking for anything to help you,” he said, and his voice was suddenly intense, and he locked eyes with Bucky meaningfully, his gaze dark but so fucking insistent that Bucky almost couldn’t breathe with it. “I never burned Hydra down in your name. _Never_.” He faltered and broke eye contact. “At least. Not after you sent me away.”

 

“Steve—”

 

“I didn’t get leads to new bases the way that practical people do,” Steve cut in. “I wasn’t good enough with computers, and I didn’t have enough resources, and I’m making fucking excuses for myself.” He shook his head sharply. “The truth is that what I did was _easy_ , and it was what I was _made for_.”

 

Steve sounded so damn disgusted with himself that Bucky felt sick. “What?” he asked, and his voice was barely a breath.

 

“I killed everyone in the base except for maybe ten,” Steve said. “Kept those ten hostages. Sometimes they’d tell me something right away, and I’d make it quick for them and the others. Most of the time they didn’t.”

 

Cold dread seeped into Bucky’s blood. “Oh, _Steve_ ,” he whispered, voice cracking.

 

“I was—maybe I still am—pretty sociopathic about it,” Steve informed him, his tone detached. “I cut them up and got my new lead and got outta there. And that led to the vault in El Salvador, once. I met Sam there to hand over the files. He told me to stop fighting. I did.”

 

Bucky honestly didn’t know what to say. What _could_ he say? “The UN wants those files as evidence that you broke the Geneva Convention?”

 

“Probably,” Steve said. “I deserve it. I deserve everything they have coming to me.”

 

The awful thing was that Bucky would call this _progress_ because at least Steve was sharing how he felt. “Come here,” Bucky said.

 

Steve looked at him, exhausted and wary. “What?”

 

“Come _here_.”

 

Steve cautiously stepped forward until he was within arm’s reach again. Bucky took another step and framed Steve’s face with his hands. “How long has it been?”

 

“Thirty years,” Steve whispered.

 

“What have you done to make up for it?”

 

“ _Nothing_.”

 

“Did those people deserve to die?”

 

Steve shrugged. “I used to think that I couldn’t decide that, but… They were Neo-Nazis, Buck. Most of them probably deserved at least prison.” He closed his eyes. “I thought they deserved much worse than death, at least at the time.”

 

“At least you didn’t kill innocents,” Bucky whispered. “You killed bad people.”

 

“Of my own free will,” Steve snapped, eyes flaring with muted anger. “I wanted it.”

 

“Honesty Hour, right?” Bucky whispered, and Steve nodded. Bucky took a shuddering breath. “It makes me feel uncomfortable and upset that you tortured people.”

 

Steve nodded. He’d expected that, at least.

 

“But I will not mourn for the lives you’ve taken.” His tone was firm. “Hydra agents deserve the worst fates. I will not miss any sleep knowing that you took out a lot of them.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said. “I can sleep in the van tonight.”

 

Bucky’s first instinct was to panic and insist that this was a horrible idea, but.

 

Steve had tortured people. It had been three decades ago, sure. But they had to keep their relationship healthy, and Bucky could not say that he didn’t need some time away from Steve to try to process this. Plus, Steve could use the crutch of the van, even if it always broke Bucky’s heart to see.

 

“I love you,” Bucky whispered, nudging his lips against Steve’s once. Steve sighed, breath puffing out against Bucky’s face. Warm. “Gimme a few days.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered.

 

“You wanna come back inside at all tonight?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve was already shaking his head. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

 

“I’ll get you some blankets.”

 

Steve looked like he was going to protest before he closed his mouth. “I—okay.”

 

“I love you,” Bucky said again.

 

“Okay,” Steve said, his voice resigned.

 

Steve had trouble saying the words a lot of the time. Bucky knew that he still didn’t believe him all the way.

 

Bucky knew that he’d hurt Steve even more if they latched onto each other right now. They needed a few days. They needed this. Bucky needed to digest the information at hand. As it was, he felt numb. As it was, he was going to explode or implode within the next few hours, and Steve and Bucky would only hurt themselves if they were together for that.

 

But it’d been thirty years, and Bucky would figure out how to reconcile his knowledge of Steve. He didn’t want to look at Steve and think, _He’s tortured people_ , every time they were together. Hydra was _not going to take this from him_.

 

He just needed a few days. They’d be okay. They’d be—they’d be alright.

 

He handed an obscene stack of blankets to Steve, and Steve whispered, “I love you too,” before Bucky made his way inside.

Sam was there for the implosion. And he said—

 

“That guy that Steve told you about—the one who was angry and tortured Hydra agents? That was Captain America.”

 

Bucky was aghast. “How does that make _any_ sense?”

 

“He was a deeply violent person in a steadily depressive state,” Sam said simply. “You met him twice. Didn’t you see it?”

 

Bucky closed his eyes. Shook his head. “There was a lot I didn’t see.”

 

Sam shrugged. “He’s a different person now. And I know that it makes you feel terrible to think about Steve doing that to another person, but it makes him feel terrible too. Don’t forgive him of it, but let both of you move on.”

 

“You’re so smart,” Bucky sniffled. “Is this how you and T’Challa moved on from the Civil War?”

 

“Sorta,” Sam said. He shrugged. “I’m really not that creative. T’Challa said something like it to me once.”

 

“You should go sleep,” Bucky said. “Don’t listen to me talk about my relationship problems on Christmas. Go cuddle with your damn husband.”

 

Sam smiled. “It’s never a burden to talk to you,” he said honestly, and Bucky wiped his eyes hurriedly. “But we _can_ talk about this later, and I’m gonna go cuddle with my damn husband now."

 

“Good.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

And Bucky conceded that, just the same as Steve probably moved the fuck on and accepted what the Winter Soldier had done, Bucky could move on and accept what Captain America had done.


	2. Anyway, Cuddling.

“Hey,” Steve said to America and David as he shuffled into the kitchen.

 

“Nice outfit,” America said as David muttered, “Good _lord_.”

 

Steve glanced down at the shirt he’d unthinkingly stolen from Bucky this morning, which sported some sort of deformed frog that Steve vaguely remembered from the Internet from his time as an Avenger. “It’s Bucky’s,” he said, not sure why he was defensive.

 

“I would have never guessed,” David said dryly.

 

“This is shameful,” America added. “You two are absolutely _disgusting_.”

 

Steve frowned, mulling that over. He was hardly ever physically affectionate with Bucky in front of the kids. Maybe he borrowed Bucky’s clothes sometimes out of convenience, and maybe every now and then Bucky would kiss him on the cheek, but that was hardly obtrusive. Instead of trying to protest, though, he said, “Do you guys want to go out for breakfast?”

 

“Sure,” America said, and David nodded.

 

“Are you going to change?” David asked with a distasteful grimace.

 

And just because David had asked— “Nope,” Steve said cheerfully.”

 

David groaned. “Fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t like Steve and Bucky didn’t _touch_. They touched all the time. They did. They had a healthy relationship. It was probably the most healthy their relationship had _ever_ been.

 

They woke up all tangled together, more mornings than not. They touched. They cuddled.

 

They just weren’t excessive or needy about it.

 

Obviously. That was the only issue here, which wasn’t even an issue at all.

 

Steve jabbed Bucky in the ribs as he watched Teddy and Loki wrestle in a strict No Powers fight. Steve was standing at least two feet away from Bucky. It was _respectable_. They were their own people, and they had their own personal space and boundaries. It was healthy.

 

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve. “What’s up?”

 

Steve opened his mouth to ask—something. What had he been about to ask? Had it even been important? “I’m gonna go for a run,” he said.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Alright.”

 

They had a healthy relationship with a good amount of touching that wasn’t excessive. They weren’t codependent. This was _healthy_.

 

What was important was that they finally trusted each other again, not that they didn’t make out in front of the damn kids.

 

Healthy.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ve been quiet,” America noted after about an hour of eating ice cream in silence.

 

Steve had driven her into the city, and they were sitting in some healthy ice cream shop, and he’d obviously been thinking too much. “Sorry,” he said.

 

“You’re usually quiet. But not with _me_ ,” America added like he hadn’t said anything at all.

 

And really, if Steve couldn’t be a stupid fool around America, he couldn’t be a stupid fool at all. Which would contradict his entire stupid, foolish existence. “I have a question about you and Kate.”

 

America frowned. “Right.”

 

Steve waved his hands a little bit. “You guys have physical boundaries. Like. You don’t do a lot of PDA.”

 

“Yes,” America said, arching a very judgmental eyebrow.

 

Steve cleared his throat. His face was hot. “That’s healthy, right?”

 

“For us, yeah,” America said. “We like our privacy.”

 

Steve shook his head a little bit, wincing. “Yeah, exactly.”

 

America gave him a look that said she wasn’t buying any of his bullshit. “You should talk to him about this.”

 

“Talk to who about what?”

 

“Don’t play dumb with me, _viejo_.”

 

Steve scowled.

 

America took a very nonchalant spoonful of her third ice cream of the day. “Do you want to go shopping?”

 

Steve scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t _bothering_ Steve.

 

They had a healthy relationship, and Bucky was practically star-fished on top of Steve right now, and it didn’t bother him that they didn’t do more of this.

 

This in itself was impressive. It hadn’t even been a year back with each other. They’d built up trust. They loved each other.

 

Plus, Steve wasn’t the most tactile guy. He barely even gave _America_ hugs, and she was his favorite person in the world. He wasn’t scared of touching people or anything, but it just wasn’t something he did.

 

Bucky’d been tactile in a different lifetime, but he was less so now. Every touch had purpose with him. Everything was meaningful. Every brush of their fingers together made Steve _shiver_.

 

It was good the way they had it.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple by way of response and non-response.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay,” Bucky finally demanded one night while everyone was watching a movie on the couches. “We need to talk.”

 

Everyone, most of all Steve, looked at Bucky sharply, and Bucky raised his chin. A spike of fear stabbed through Steve’s gut, but he doubted Bucky was going _to break up with him_ because that would’ve come out of practically _nowhere_ , right? “What?” he still said, and his voice was both faint and startled.

 

Bucky had been sitting across the couch with Billy and Tommy between them, but now he approached Steve and grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”

 

Bucky’s voice booked no argument, and Steve let out a breath and followed him out of he room, trying his best to ignore the worried gazes of the kids.

 

Bucky stopped them when they reached the gym, of all places, and put his hands on his hips. “Something has been bothering you, and you won’t talk to me.”

 

“Nothing bothers me,” Steve said. And then he heard his own words and saw Bucky’s arched eyebrow, and he winced. “Buck—”

 

“Communication,” Bucky said, “is fucking important. Especially with us.”

 

This wasn’t the first time Bucky had said something like that, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Bucky deserved someone way less emotionally stunted than Steve, probably, but Steve was still selfish. “It’s not a big deal,” he finally whispered.

 

Bucky’s gaze softened. “Tell me?”

 

Steve cast an uncertain look at Bucky, and his eyes darted away, as if afraid of being pulled too close to his orbit for this conversation. “Does it bother you,” Steve began and cut himself off.

 

“What?” Bucky whispered.

 

“Does it bother you,” Steve began again, swallowing roughly, “that we’re doing—whatever it is you wanna call what we’re doing—and we touch about half as much as we did before the war?”

 

Bucky blinked, startled. “We’re different people,” he said hesitantly.

 

“No, I know that, I know,” Steve said, feeling like he was going to die of embarrassment on spot. “We just haven’t—I mean—I don’t think either of us would be entirely comfortable going back to touching 24/7. We’re not codependent anymore, but.”

 

“You’re touch-starved,” Bucky said, like a great realization. His lips were parted slightly, and he rocked back on his heels. “You’ve been touch-starved since—probably since you’ve been defrosted.” He raked his hand through his hair. “ _Shit_ —I’m an idiot for not noticing. Shit.”

 

Steve frowned. Maybe he was touch-starved. “You can’t know what I don’t tell you,” he said.

 

“Steve Rogers, you’re gonna be the fucking end of me,” Bucky said helplessly. “I don’t—I haven’t been touch-starved in a while, but I’m not scared of it either.”

 

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Saying it would be like yanking off a band-aid. “I’m-a-little-bit-scared-of-it,” he said in a rush.

 

“Oh, honey,” Bucky murmured. He took a few steps forward until they were nearly chest-to-chest, and Steve’s breathing picked up. Bucky’s hands hovered over his skin, and Steve felt on _fire_. “This okay?”

 

Steve nodded hesitantly, and Bucky put his hands on his forearms and slowly slid them up to his biceps, and Steve couldn’t stop the full-body shudder.

 

“Jesus, you’re so _sensitive_ ,” Bucky whispered. “How could I have not _noticed_?”

 

“I—” Steve said, but then Bucky slowly dragged a hand across his chest, and his brain short-circuited a little bit. “Um.”

 

Bucky pressed a delicate kiss to the skin of Steve’s neck before leaning back to look at him, his eyes wide with wonder more than sadness, which was a win in itself. “You feel things _so much_.” And he let his hand on Steve’s chest slide around to grip the small of Steve’s back and pull him close.

 

Steve shuddered again, and it would’ve been embarrassing around anyone else. “Uh.”

 

“Kids looked worried,” Bucky commented after a few minutes of Steve gradually going boneless against him.

 

“What?” Steve said dazedly, and Bucky slid his hand under Steve’s shirt, and his breath caught.

 

“We’re missing the movie.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, and his brain felt like molasses as Bucky pressed his cheek against Steve’s temple.

 

Bucky’s lips brushed against his ear. “I could probably take you apart without even—”

 

Steve whimpered a little bit, almost involuntarily, and Bucky’s other hand drifted to his hip.

 

“Later,” Bucky said.

 

Steve let out a big breath.

 

“Let’s go finish the movie,” Bucky murmured, pulling back a little bit. Steve blinked owlishly. “I said ‘ _we need to talk_ ’ in front of them.”

 

Steve huffed a weak laugh, and his head was spinning. “Bad move, Barnes.”

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand. “I love you so damn much.”

 

Steve closed his eyes and leaned against Bucky’s side for a moment. “I—yeah. We—I love you too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

America pretended not to watch as Steve and Bucky innocently walked back into the room, and everyone was so purposefully not looking at them that it was obvious that they were paying close attention.

 

And then Bucky shoved Tommy and Billy down the couch and sat down next to them, and Steve slowly collapsed next to Bucky, and Bucky threw a leg over Steve’s thigh and draped an arm across Steve’s shoulders.

 

America and Kate exchanged a glance. Sure, every now and then, Steve would maybe put his head in Bucky’s lap or something, but that was the most they’d ever really seen.

 

America looked back at Steve. Steve had his eyes closed, and his head was bowed forward a little bit, and he looked somehow a little bit more relaxed.

 

She caught Bucky’s eye, and Bucky offered her a small, slightly sad smile and tapped his head against Steve’s, and Steve fucking _shivered_.

 

And maybe America and Bucky would never be BFFs, but they could agree on Steve. And there was a bunch of shit America couldn’t do for Steve that Bucky could, and she nodded at him, conceding that he had probably done a damn good job tonight.

 

Bucky relaxed a little bit and nodded back at her.


	3. Anyway, Cuddling Pt. II: The Cuddles Strike Back.

Bucky felt like a helpless goddamn _idiot_.

 

This was the type of shit that he was supposed to notice. Steve had been here for nearly a year, and Bucky hadn’t bothered to pay attention to how he responded to touch?

 

He was the absolute worst boyfriend/partner/significant other/whatever-you-wanted-to-call-it in the world.

 

Steve gave a sleepy hum as Bucky carefully guided him into bed, and Steve absently stripped down to his boxers, and Bucky followed suit, and that was just how they fuckin’ slept most of the time unless they slept without any clothes at all (or if Bucky was feeling particularly awful and needed the security of ridiculous pjs). And they had never really talked about cuddling. Or whatever. They cuddled most nights, but not usually through the whole night or anything, and Bucky was so fucking unobservant and awful.

 

Steve settled onto his back, and he watched Bucky hover by the bed with a curiously lazy smile, and Bucky was terrible.

 

“Hey,” Steve said, and his smile went all sheepish, and Bucky’s chest fluttered with the look. “I—thanks.”

 

Dear god, was Steve _thanking_ him for belatedly getting his act together? Of course he fucking was. “You don’t have to thank me,” Bucky said, almost sounding aghast.

 

Steve was either oblivious to Bucky’s tone or just didn’t care. “I do. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I want to.”

 

“Still shouldn’t have to.”

 

Bucky crawled into bed and sat crisscross-applesauce by Steve’s torso, looking down at his knees. “I should’ve noticed,” he whispered.

 

“No,” Steve whispered. “Don’t go there, Buck.”

 

Bucky shrugged. He couldn’t change the fact that he’d been neglectful or whatever. He could just make it better. He could do that.

 

He slowly put his hand on Steve’s abdomen, and Steve sighed and shivered a little bit, eyes fluttering shut, and Bucky cast his mind back to try to figure out how he hadn’t noticed something so obvious.

 

But then he remembered that Steve had gotten good at lying.

 

Sometimes after they fucked, Steve would cling a little bit for a few minutes or a few hours, but he’d always follow that with curling away from Bucky and into himself, and Bucky had given Steve the space because Steve was fucked up and didn’t need Bucky to question his every move.

 

Sometimes when Bucky would do something innocuous like touch Steve’s shoulder, Steve would sway and lean into the touch like he hadn’t ever felt anything like it in his life, and Bucky had thought that maybe it was because he was special or something, or maybe he just hadn’t thought anything of it.

 

But Steve had done a good job hiding how touch-starved he was.

 

And Bucky probably shouldn’t blame himself for not seeing it, but he just couldn’t rationalize right now.

 

He slid his hand up to Steve’s collarbone, and then down his arm to lace their fingers together. Steve smiled a little bit, not opening his eyes.

 

Bucky shifted so that he was sitting on Steve’s thighs, and he wondered if his metal hand would draw the same reaction. He hesitantly traced his fingertips down Steve’s chest.

 

Steve let out a shaky breath. “ _Buck_ ,” he breathed, and he squeezed Bucky’s hand.

 

“I know,” Bucky whispered softly, and he leaned down and traced his nose along the tendons of Steve’s neck, and Steve’s free hand came to rest on Bucky’s back. Bucky laid down so that their chests were pressed together, and Steve wound his arm around Bucky’s torso, keeping him there.

 

He was trembling a little bit, and Bucky felt a strange mixture of fascination and arousal and devastation. “Damn,” Steve swore, and his voice was hoarse. “This is—probably embarrassing.”

 

“No,” Bucky murmured. “It’s not.”

 

“We touch all the time,” Steve protested.

 

“Not enough for you,” Bucky said gently. “And that’s okay. We can do more. Not like it’s a hardship.”

 

“I’m sorry you have to put up with… all this,” Steve muttered after a moment.

 

Bucky shifted, picking up his head so that he could rest his forehead against Steve’s. “It is my privilege to be able to see _all_ of you.”

 

Steve let out a little breath, eyebrows drawing together.

 

“And I should be the one apologizing,” Bucky added, and he felt Steve open his eyes. Bucky did not follow suit. “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice. I—shit—I promised I’d get it right this time, and just look at what I’ve done. I’m—”

 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered. “I’ll take what I can get. Hell, I don’t even deserve the shit you’ve been giving me.”

 

Bucky pushed up on his elbows to look down at Steve. “You deserve everything I can give you.”

 

Steve just smiled sadly, not bothering to respond.

 

“I _love_ you.” 

 

Steve reached up and framed Bucky’s face with his hands. “I love you too,” he said after the usual beat of incredulous hesitation that never failed to break Bucky’s heart.

 

“You know, I read somewhere that skin-on-skin contact is actually suppose to heal the brain? It makes it heavier or something? Which is a good thing, I think. I dunno. I think I read that somewhere.”

 

“Aw, Buck, you sayin’ I got reason to heal my brain?”

 

Bucky scowled without venom. “We _both_ do, asshole.” He cleared his throat, trying not to fixate on how Steve’s thumb had started stroking across his cheekbone. “Anyway, it’ll help us both.” The  _you especially_ went unsaid but not unheard.

 

“Okay,” Steve whispered, and he angled Bucky’s head to lean up for a kiss.

 

Bucky had kissed a lot of people in his life, but there was nothing quite like kissing Steve Rogers. There was something intrinsically different about it, like every time their lips brushed, something in Bucky would shout, _Hey! This is my soulmate! Isn’t he amazing!_ And Steve kissed like he had all the time in the world, even if it was a fast-paced kiss. He kissed like he’d spend every remaining day of his unnaturally long lifespan within Bucky’s reach.

 

Even now, it was barely anything more than a gentle press of lips before Bucky collapsed onto Steve’s chest again, but it still left Bucky aching with the possibility of their own tiny eternities.

 

He ran his fingers up and down Steve’s sides in slow, light movements, and Steve couldn’t stop the fine tremor that intermittently ran through his body, even after he dozed off, and Bucky stared at him long after his body went lax with dead weight.

 

He was gonna get it right one of these days.


	4. #LivinTheDream

Most days, Steve’s veins were ice; his limbs were lead. Moving was the effort of a statue, regal and imposing and stiff and dead.

 

Today, Steve’s veins were empty, his limbs weightless and nonexistent.

 

He ghosted his fingers across his jaw, and wasn’t that strange? To be able to feel the tiny prickles of sharp growth while also feeling nothing at all—there was no blood in his body.

 

Bucky watched him, propped against the bathroom doorframe, a furrow between his brows. “I don’t get it.”

 

Steve hummed vaguely.

 

“Explain it to me?”

 

“Sure,” Steve said hollowly. He turned away from the mirror and stretched out a hand. Bucky hesitated before taking it. Warm calluses.

 

Steve turned his hand, watching fingers curl around each other, and that was familiar except in all the ways that it wasn’t.

 

“It’s like,” he began, and then stopped. “You know the death thing?”

 

Bucky closed his eyes briefly. “I know of it.”

 

Steve smiled gently at him. “It’s like that but feeling like you already don’t exist.”

 

“What’s that like?” Bucky asked, and for what it was worth, he sounded genuinely curious.

 

Steve laughed. “Boring, for the most part. I like it sometimes.”

 

Bucky pressed his lips together like he did when he wanted to say something that he thought would upset Steve.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

Bucky looked caught. He ducked his head guiltily. “I love you.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve said dryly.

 

“Would you let me try to help? Let me take care of you today?” he asked in a wincing rush.

 

Steve blinked. “Don’t be sad if it doesn’t work.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky said in the way that meant he would definitely be sad if it didn’t work.

 

Steve’s limbs were made of lead and hollowed out and empty when Bucky tugged him out of the bathroom and into bed.

 

He tucked Steve into the sheets like he was a fucking child again and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m gonna go talk to the kids.”

 

Steve wanted to ask what Bucky would say to them, but the haze in his body was becoming the haze of his mind now that he was in a dark room again. It was like the dark always pushed at him. Like it was fucking insistent that Steve remain the same forever as the world revolved without him.

 

Bucky returned a few minutes or a few centuries later, sitting next to Steve. “America said to make sure you eat,” Bucky said hesitantly.

 

Steve wrinkled his nose. The thought of food was vastly unappealing right now.

 

“I don’t know enough about depression, do I?”

 

“You don’t need a degree in clinical psychology to hang out with me,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

 

“Low blow,” Steve mumbled.

 

“I’m not saying you’re too fucked up. I’m just saying your mental illnesses are, like, on steroids.”

 

Steve mustered up the energy to give Bucky a look. “That’s because they  _are_.”

 

Bucky froze. Blinked. “Serum. That’s right.”

 

Steve felt like he was thinking about the serum every minute of every day. A curse that burned through his empty, icy, barren veins. A world of lovely irony— _Let’s give the suicidal guy a good ole batch of immortality_.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky murmured.

 

“You probably don’t want to know,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky stroked his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Honey.”

 

“It’s just—funny,” Steve said, words grating out of his throat.

 

“What is?”

 

Steve smiled against the sheets, and he knew it scared Bucky when he got like this, but it wasn’t like he didn’t usually try to hide it. “I asked for this.”

 

Bucky went still. Steve didn’t look at him.

 

“I asked to be a soldier. I asked for immortality—or—or whatever the fuck we have. I asked for a war. I asked for a  _lot_  of wars. I asked to die.” He laughed a little. “You didn’t ask for any of it.”

 

Bucky traced over Steve’s lips with his thumb. “Yeah,” he said, voice choked.

 

“I’m a fickle bitch,” Steve declared darkly.

 

“You—” Bucky cleared his throat. “You asked for justice.”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s it,” Bucky said. “That’s all you ever wanted. All of those things that—that you just said? That’s just justice. And you always fucking got it in a backhanded way. Like. You couldn’t die without becoming a symbol. You couldn’t go to war without getting fucked in the head. You didn’t want that. You wanted justice. You still do.”

 

Steve let out a breath. “Fuck off, Buck.”

 

Bucky laid down next to him, and Steve was finally forced to look at his dumb fucking beautiful face. “You aren’t nearly as villainous as you seem to think.”

 

“Let me goddamn hate myself,” Steve snapped. “I think that’s justice. At this point.”

 

Bucky let out a long breath, closing his eyes like he was trying to remember something a therapist had told him. He probably was. “Fine.” He reached out and cupped Steve’s face, and it was strange to feel the metal ridges of Bucky’s hand when he felt like he was made of nothing. “What can I do to actually help?”

 

Steve shrugged lamely. He looked down at his wrists. The skin was irritated. He wondered what he’d done to himself this time. “Just.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said inarticulately. He touched Bucky’s chest, feeling like a disembodied fool.

 

Bucky sorta got Steve’s intention because he rolled Steve over, half on top of his chest.

 

Steve had been self-destructive in every decision he’d ever made in his life. He hoped that maybe he’d moved to this kind of destruction, though.

 

Bucky’s warmth made him feel gutted and scraped raw and skeletal and terrified—made him feel like he was courting death in an entirely new way. It was thrilling and sad and destructive, but Steve thought he could get used to something more figurative than physical ruin.

 

“You kill me too,” Steve whispered, “but, like, in a mostly good way.”

 

Bucky’s breath hitched. “I know, pal,” he said, and he let Steve bask in his own ruination.


	5. Lmao Happy New Year

Steve liked Kamala—he really did—but he kinda thought she was his bad luck charm.

 

Because the question wasn’t even out of Sam’s mouth before he knew he was in trouble.

 

“How do you two even know each other if Bucky didn’t introduce you?”

 

Kamala tensed next to him, and Steve cast his gaze heavenward. Why was she a secret identity-based superhero and such a _bad damn liar_?

 

“Oh, um,” she said. “We. There was a.” She made some vague gestures. “Y’know?”

 

Sam looked amused. “Yeah, that really cleared things up,” he said dryly.

 

Kamala shot Steve a panicked look, and Steve wished he could feel anything besides resignation. “This isn’t a Christmas story,” Steve said quietly.

 

“Good thing it’s not Christmas, then,” Sam pointed out. He was right. It was New Years. It felt like another notch in a belt that Steve didn’t want to have.

 

Kamala gave him a look that screamed,  _ABORTABORTABORT_ , and Steve felt mostly bad for continually putting her in uncomfortable situations. “You can go talk to someone else if you want,” he told her quietly.

 

Kamala narrowed her eyes. “We are in this anecdote together.”

 

Steve snorted. “’Anecdote.’”

 

“Stop being morbid.”

 

“No.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“Dude,” Sam cut in, looking kinda politely confused.

 

“It was because of fuckin’  _Jersey_ ,” Steve joked, grinning.

 

Kamala scowled. “You would’ve tried doing it in  _Antarctica_ , man.”

 

“True,” Steve agreed because, well, he’d sorta tried the whole suicide thing in six outta seven continents. Antarctica did seem the next logical step.

 

“What?” Sam said, and Steve felt bad for excluding him.

 

He shrugged. “Kamala did a shit job at talking me down from suicide.”

 

“Hey,” Kamala complained. “You’re alive. I did a mediocre job, at  _least_.”

 

Sam blinked once, very slowly. “You…” He blinked again, rapidly now.

 

Steve touched Kamala’s elbow, and she took her cue, squeezing his shoulder before ducking into the next room, and Sam stared at Steve. “Sammy,” Steve said after a few minutes.

 

Sam’s gaze was sharp. Too much, almost. “Come here, man.”

 

Steve took a step closer, and Sam grabbed his arm, his grip gentle, and steered him through the halls of the building until they were in Sam’s old room. It was bare bones now. A chair. A bed.

 

Sam blinked at it for another moment before turning to Steve. “You could’ve talked to me,” he said quietly.

 

“I did,” Steve said before he could stop himself, then clamped his mouth shut. Sat down next to Sam on the edge of the mattress.

 

“What?”

 

“You were gonna be the last person I talked to,” Steve said guiltily. “It was a check-in. Right before I came here.”

 

Something in Sam’s expression cleared. “Steve,” he said helplessly.

 

Steve shrugged. “I’m not gonna jump off every tall building I see,” he muttered.

 

Sam pressed his fingers into his eyes. “I know we aren’t, like—” He cleared his throat. “I know we aren’t best friends anymore.” Steve inhaled sharply, almost wounded, except nothing wounded him. “But I’m a veteran too, man.”

 

“I know,” Steve whispered.

 

“I got it too,” Sam said. “I’ve  _been_  there. Not as long as you, but I’ve fuckin’ been there.”

 

This was… news to Steve. “Oh.”

 

“So don’t fucking act like you’re the only person who’s ever wanted to die, and don’t act like you’re too fucking removed from the world to ask for help.” Sam took a deep, shuddering breath. “We’re the  _same_ , Steve.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.

 

“I would’ve helped you,” Sam continued after a pause. “Thirty-whatever years ago. You wouldn’t have let me.”

 

Steve didn’t bother trying to argue.

 

The clock struck twelve, somewhere. It was 2049, and Steve was sleeping in the van tonight, and Sam was looking at him like he was a walking tragedy.

 

“I think I loved you,” Sam added after seconds-minutes-days-years.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Me too.”

 

Sam knocked their knuckles together. “Ain’t life a bitch,” he said hollowly.

 

“Yes,” Steve whispered.

 

Sam slung an arm around Steve’s shoulder, and it wasn’t awkward because somewhere during the conversation, Steve had shrunk down down down until he was almost back to his old height.

 

“You think you’re alone, but you weren’t, man. I was just a phone call away.”

 

“I know. I remembered.”

 

Sam shook his head. Steve knew that hadn’t been what he’d meant. Sam took a deep breath and dropped his cheek onto Steve’s head. “Happy New Year,” he said, and it felt like a defeat for a moment.

 

Maybe it felt like a defeat for both of them.


	6. In Which They're Fuckin' Annoying

## Loki

“Oh my god, will you  _stop_  that?” Loki snapped when it finally became too much.

 

Steve looked up, half-betrayed, half-innocent. “What?”

 

“The damn  _nostalgia_. It’s literally  _killing_  me.”

 

Kate laughed from where she was sitting beside Steve, looking at old black and white pictures with him. “Lame,” she commented.

 

Loki scowled and broke his pencil.

 

He hated when they fucking reminisced about good times. Because—because—it just—wasn’t  _fair_. Five hundred years versus a century, and he had maybe two good memories, and it wasn’t even worth someone wanting to stay with him, and—

 

He got to his feet while Steve looked at him critically and stalked off.

 

Because, honestly, fuck ‘em  _all_.

 

He pretended not to hear Steve say quietly, “Alright, that’s enough for now.”

 

* * *

  

## Billy

“Bucky.”

 

“What?”

 

Billy took a deep breath. “Please stop dabbing.”

 

Bucky fucking dabbed in his direction. “Stop hating.”

 

“Oh no,” Billy said as Bucky’s eyes lit up.

 

“ _Haters gonna hate-hate-hate-hate, baby I’m just gonna shake-shake-shake-shake, I shake it off, I shake it off—_ ”

 

Billy clapped his hands over his ears.

 

‘Cause, by god, he loved Bucky, but the 2010s culture had to  _stop_.

 

Bucky dabbed. Again.

 

Billy congratulated himself on not abusing his powers to take the dabbing era completely out of this universe.

 

* * *

## David

Steve squinted at the TV. “I don’t remember the winter being that picturesque that year,” he said dubiously.

 

David rubbed his temples. “They don’t have anthologies of primary sources from every single day of World War II.”

 

Steve hummed, eyes still narrowed. “It’s more important than you’d think. Snow is made for disaster. We had to fuckin’ pay attention to snow. Hey, I think they got the bullets wrong too. That’s not even that hard. How’d they get the bullets wrong?”

 

“It’s not even a documentary,” David despaired. “They’re not aiming for perfect accuracy.”

 

Steve shook his head. “The real deal was better.”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Steve ignored him, making a shocked face. “That uniform is OUTRAGEOUSLY against regulations!”

 

David groaned. “The Howling Commandos’ uniforms were against regulations!”

 

“Yeah, but we were  _weird_.”

 

“You pretentious  _fuck_ —”

 

* * *

 

## Kate

Kate winced.

 

“And now,” Bucky continued in the worst French accent known to man, “dinner is served.” He put her plate in front of her with a little flourish.

 

“Thanks,” she said. “You know, for someone who can speak, like, twenty languages, your accents fucking suck.”

 

“I don’t speak French.”

 

Steve said something to him in French, and Bucky frowned, looking betrayed as he clearly understood what Steve said.

 

“Je m’appelle Bucky,” he said in a bad Southern accent, and it sounded like  _Jim Apple Bucky_ , and Steve burst into giggles.

 

Kate buried her face in her hands.

 

“Don’t be upset, love,” Bucky offered, switching to terrible British.

 

“I’m ashamed,” Kate groaned.

 

“Eat your dinner, Comrade Katie,” Bucky said in a slightly more accurate but still awful Russian accent, and Kate jokingly pushed away her plate.

 

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

 

Steve laughed again.

* * *

  

## Teddy

“Oh no,” Teddy cried. “Not again. Nope.”

 

“What?” Steve asked blankly.

 

“You’re stealing my shoes again!”

 

Steve glanced at Teddy’s favorite converse, then back at him. “We have the same sized feet?” he pointed out, clearly confused as to why there was a problem in the first place.

 

“Did no one teach you about, like,  _privacy_?”

 

Steve blinked slowly. “Not really?”

 

“Stop stealing my shoes!”

 

Steve dropped Teddy’s converse, holding up his hands. “Okay. Sorry. They’re just—I like your style.”

 

“Thanks,” Teddy sighed, deflating a little bit. “I’ll go shopping with you for some shoes this weekend.”

 

Steve tried not to visibly perk up, and it was kind of adorable.

* * *

 

## Tommy

“Would it, like, physically wound you to match your clothes?” Tommy demanded incredulously because, seriously, he’d thought that stripes and plaid had been a joke reserved for  _movies_.

 

“Do I embarrass you?” Bucky asked, clearly unrepentant.

 

“Yes, frankly, you do.”

 

“Aw,” Bucky pouted. “Guess somebody’s not going to the mall.”

 

“Stripes,” Tommy sputtered, “and  _plaid_.”

 

“Boo hoo,” Bucky drawled. “Get in the car or I’ll infect you with my fucking awesome fashion sense.”

 

Tommy gave him the finger.

 

Fuck these assholes.

 

Thank god he wasn’t a Young Avenger—he would’ve reduced his cool factor just by association.

 

* * *

  

## America

“Jeez,” America hissed. “Stop that.”

 

Steve sleepily looked up from his book. “What?”

 

America scowled, gesturing between him and Bucky. “You two are  _nauseating_.”

 

Steve looked genuinely confused while Bucky stuck his tongue out at her tauntingly. “I’m just sitting,” he said defensively.

 

“You are  _wearing Bucky’s clothes_  and  _drinking Bucky’s hot chocolate_  and  _cuddling on the couch._ ” Steve looked startled. “Honestly,  _viejo_ , have some decency.”

 

Steve withdrew his feet from Bucky’s lap, but Bucky caught his ankle. “Let us live, America.”

 

“You annoy me,” she declared.

 

“Your face annoys me,” Bucky parroted.

 

“Your mom annoys me.”

 

“Your—”

 

“Enough,” Steve said softly, a quiet, private smile breaking out on his lips.

 

America tried not to smile back, but dammit. She was weak like that.

 

She stuck up her chin and tried to sniff indignantly. “Still gross,” she maintained, striding away.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thecommodoresquid)


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